


Eurydice

by Etrangere



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-22
Updated: 2011-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etrangere/pseuds/Etrangere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are miracles that you can’t touch, can’t see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eurydice

**Author's Note:**

> All publicly recognizable characters, settings, plot, etc. are the property of C. S. Friedman. The original characters, settings and plot are the property of the artist/author. The artist/author is in no way associated with C. S. Friedman and no copyright infringement is intended. This work is an amateur fan effort and no profit is being made.

The young man spoke of hypothesis. Far-fetched theories. Smoke in the wind.

From there to certainty, there is a leap of faith as vast as the difference between day and True Night.

Damien is a man of faith and he’s already trusted everything in Gerald Tarrant. He’s made the trip to Hell already. He should know better than to look back.

Yet he can’t help but doubt and wonder. The intangibility of hope haunts him. He lurches and reaches to touch, to know. He stalks the young man, eager for the mere glimmer of familiarity in gesture, in voice, in words. The young man looks back with recognition, or what Damien thinks is recognition.

Damien is a man of faith, but he’s a fallen priest. Sometimes he thinks he’s gone mad with yearning. That he sees signs in random patterns, and proofs in indifferent circumstances. But the young man looks back and brings him back to his room. And Damien touches him, kisses him, knows him. And each touch is a question.

He stops at the edge of the Abyss, with a name on his lips.

_Don’t look back._

To name a miracle is to dispel it. To watch it unravel in a whirl of dust and Fae; certain, at last, of something you no longer grasp. Such is the nature of faith.

So Damien gets up and goes away, out of the city, and doesn’t look back.

But sometimes he prays, still, for miracles to be true. And curses Gerald Tarrant’s name for giving him that kind of faith.


End file.
